


Mirrors

by nanjcsy



Series: The Unforgiven [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Humor, Mutilated, Other, Repressed Memories, Survivor Guilt, Tortured, haunted, self awareness, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/pseuds/nanjcsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reek sees himself in a mirror for the first time.  It does not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirrors

Reek was hobbling his way towards the kitchen, when the sun glinted off a new ornate full length mirror.  It had gold as a border and was leaning against the wall, waiting for a place to be.  He really meant to walk straight past it, as he does with the small mirrors he encounters here.  No matter, Reek needs to hurry, he only has a short time to eat before Ramsay will need him.  So, determined to not focus on anything but getting his porridge, Reek turned and stared into the mirror.

Briefly, Reek felt a shock when he could not place who was the person in the mirror.  Not him, no, of course not.  But almost mercifully, that image went away and Reek saw something much better.  He wanted to grin but he remembered to count his teeth and frowned instead.  There was a much better looking, younger person in the mirror now.  And Reek knew, he KNEW that place where the boy was.  Winterfell, and that boy is Theon Greyjoy. Hostage to the Starks, friend of Robb Stark, his own family fading, so far away, near a sea the Theon only hears in his dreams.

Lady Cat had sniffed disapprovingly when men showed up in an ornate wagon, with a gifts for Sansa from the Queen.  Two fancy dresses, expensive perfume and finally, a tall, gilded mirror.  Sansa took the dresses, perfume and the argument with her mother inside.  The mirror had been left propped up on a tree and since there were no mirrors that had full length at Winterfell, even the boys were intrigued.  Robb, Jon and Theon approached and began to pose in the mirror, laughing.  Silly poses first, making faces, pretending to kill one another gruesomely, then came the posing as heroes.

Robb had a kingly look as he stood in front of the mirror, proud and stern, yet still something so naive in those eyes, his sword held so it seemed to split his chest, neck and head.  Reek felt a shiver go through him and he whispered, _"Oh Robb, Oh you stupid fool.  You became a king that died because of a girl.  If I had been there, could I have stopped you from that mistake?"_ Ghosts cannot hear the living, and memories cannot be changed.  Jon took his turn, he looked charming and handsome, making Theon and Robb roll their eyes.  Black hair flowing, deep brown eyes that were always dark with private anguish.  He tried to look proud and deadly, but that tenseness to him, those eyes made it a lie.  Jon held his sword in front of his waist, as if ready to strike.

In a whisper full of wistfulness and anger, Reek hissed.  _"You had to become a Crow...you deserted him! While you wandered the wall, while you wore black and could finally be the dour man you wanted to be, Robb was falling.  You could have counseled him!  Stopped him!  I betrayed him!  He broke a sacred pact, then walked right into a deadly trap with his mother.  Why did you not save him, Jon?  Why did I not save him?"_   The last boy, Theon had his turn at the mirror.  Holding a bow and arrow, Theon posed sideways as if about to release a killing shot, his face turned towards the mirror.  Such an arrogant, cocky grin on his face.  Standing so dramatically, believing that if he acted like a hero, he would be one.  Reek wanted to scream at this youth, this arrogant, handsome fool.

 _"You stupid idiot!  Stop grinning, you mindless fool!  You will lose that grin and more! Did you really think being that way will get you a home?  Get you anywhere?  Oh, it does!"_ He hissed bitterly.  Reek noticed he was crying and wiped mindlessly at the useless tears.  The sudden movement allowed that strange creature to ghost its way over the image of Theon.  A gruesome comparison began.  Those hands holding the bow so easily, fingers that were nimble. The ghost hands trembled, fingers missing, the rest flayed, just the thought of flesh touching a bow made him cringe.  The muscles arms and legs, so steady and sure, unlike this body made only of bone and less flesh everyday. 

Theon wore real wool and leather, fine as Robb and Jon had.  Reek wore rags, full of holes and the clothing hung off him.  It looked like a thin child trying to wear his father's clothing.  Theon's stance was proud, back straight, chin up, his face full of arrogance.  Reek stood on knees that crouched, just to keep balance on his destroyed feet.  His shoulders always stayed hunched, as if anticipating a blow any moment, which he is.  Reek's head always stayed down, only his eyes would peek up if his Master wished it.  Recently, the tick in his head and neck had become worse, now instead of just twitching, he bobs his head.  He cannot stop it or control it, it amuses Ramsay, so it does not bother him too much.  It bothered him that he was not bothered.

With sudden jealousy, Reek sneered at Theon's hair.  It was glorious, when Lady Cat would let him, he would grow it down to his shoulders.  Such a deep shade of golden brown hair, thick and curly.  The whores all loved to play with that hair, that was a month or two after the mirror, that he discovered that.  Then through the mirror Reek saw the thin, colorless hair that covered his face.  And covered half his body.  Good Gods, had he actually wished for long hair once?  Not only was the hair far too long, but it was greasy with sweat and stiff with blood.  So many knots and snarls that no brush could ever break through it.  Nor soap or a knife could get through, Reek though with despair.

Such a handsome face, white teeth, sea blue eyes full of confidence and dreams.  Now here is a gaunt face, feral with fear etched in bones.  Cracked bloody lips that would never know what a smile felt like.  Why would he ever wish to show his shattered teeth?  Eyes?  Sea blue once, faded now by fear and pain.  Bulging, always bulging now, as if the last shock he could take stayed frozen in his eyes.  _"Oh you wretched fool!  So busy trying to be impressive to the Starks, to the whores, to your family, you never ever could win!  Look at what happened!  It wasn't worth it, we could have...could have-"_ It was too much, all this pain, all these ghosts haunting him. 

There was no thought involved, just as Theon would have done, Reek put a small, bony fist up.  Even as he hit into the mirror with all his might, he was so weak and frail now, it only caused the glass to crack.  As Reek pulled back his bloody, aching hand into his chest, he noticed the largest crack went down the middle.  It caused a line through Reek's image.  For one brief moment, it seemed as if one side was half of Theon's face, the other side, Reek's.  Before Reek could drown fully into horror over this, a worse thing came.  A sound that Reek feared terribly, his Master's boots coming towards him.  Trembling, whimpering in fear and misery, Reek stared at the wretched broken glass.  He swore never to go near one of the hellish things again.

A soft, inquisitive voice cut through Reek like a knife.  _"Reek, why did you break that mirror?  It was my gift to my bride to be."_ No answer would be correct, no excuse could be acceptable, there was only taking the punishment.  It seemed that was one piece of the past, he carried into the future.  One last flashback occurred, like a flash in his mind.  Flickering in seconds, a tiny boy, a huge man, his disgusted father, towering over him. A youth fearing a large sword worn by the stern large northern Lord, standing over him ready to punish for a transgression.  Sobbing loudly now, a pathetic sound, Reek casts out all the haunting past.  Slowly, fearfully, he turns his small, weak frame, to face the much bigger, angry Master. 


End file.
